


say what you mean, but don’t say it mean

by pragmatic



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M, a coffee shop au that got way too angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 00:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15498072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmatic/pseuds/pragmatic
Summary: “Well, we don’t know if Shaw is in a relationship, or if he’s even interested in men, so we still might have to change the target all together.”“So, the bet’s not really about you getting the guy; it’s about you getting the guy before Bellamy does.” Raven clarified.“Exactly.” Clarke said. “Was that not clear before?”





	say what you mean, but don’t say it mean

**Author's Note:**

> cant write fluff cant write angst so i compromised and gave u this weird hybrid baby. ur welcome

Clarke often gets herself into some stupid shit—and most of it begins with a fight with Bellamy. Before they met less than a year ago, she’d never considered herself the competitive type, or that she even had an argumentative side. But Bellamy took one step inside the coffee shop on his first day, and nothing had been the same since.

Before that, she’d considered it common knowledge that you wouldn’t wear the symbols of other companies slashed across your chest to your workplace—but he waltzed in, the Starbucks logo bright and shiny, unwittingly starting a war with seemingly no end.

When she’d pointed it out, he had simply smirked, and said, “It’s ironic”, as if that should excuse it entirely.

From that day forward, Bellamy even breathing the wrong way bothered her, and could start an argument that lasted for weeks. Recently, it’d become more banter than bite, but that only resulted in them egging one another on until one them succeeded in making a fool of themselves; or carrying out ridiculous bets that had extreme consequences if you were unfortunate enough to lose.

***

Bellamy flicked her ear, abruptly pulling her from the daydream she had been entranced in. She kicked his shin, while still managing to keep a sunny smile plastered on her face for the customer in front of her.

When they turned around, she faced him, raising her eyebrows to visibly convey _what the fuck_?

He didn’t look up from the coffee machine, but still answered the unspoken question. “You’ve been staring at that guy in the corner for the past week—the pathetic coming off you is making my eyes water.”

She sneered, turning back to her work without comment. She was more angry with herself than anything—getting caught drooling was never a proud experience. Especially if Bellamy was the one doing the catching.

“Looking does not imply interest—not that it’s any of your business.” She said through gritted teeth, while handing a customer their change.

The guy in question was some strikingly admirable eye candy—dark skin, hair buzzed down to his skull, and warm eyes that Clarke just couldn’t quite keep her own off of. He’d ordered his drink as Shaw, but she figured that it must have been a nickname.

Bellamy snorted, grinding the coffee beans obnoxiously loud. (Not that there was any other way to do it, but it was the look on his face _while_ he did it. Asshole.) “You just don’t have the balls to go talk to him.”

“That would be unprofessional!” She whispered furiously, indignant.

His smirk only widened. “I bet I could get his number before you could.”

She narrowed her eyes, even as unease curled in her stomach. “What are the stakes?”

“No asking for his number outright—he has to ask for yours—creativity wins extra points, and in store flirting only.”

She leaned closer. “If I win, you have to close by yourself for a month.”

He mirrored her. “And if I win... you have to drive me to work everyday for month—even if you’re not working.”

She held out her hand, shaking her head with disgust. “You play dirty—but I play dirtier.”

He grasped her hand, giving one firm shake in agreement. “Let’s see who wins this bet first.”

It was then she realized how close they were standing—almost nose to nose—and she took a generous step back, irritated at the blush making its way up her neck.

Bellamy smiled wide as he greeted the next customer. “Let the games begin.”

***

Regularly, Clarke flirting involved an unnecessary amount of panic, but during a bet, there was no such thing. Everything she did was calculated, timed down to the minute, with back up plan after back up plan on the off chance that Bellamy managed to throw her off her game.

Of course, there was still the chance that Shaw wasn’t interested in men, or was in a relationship—the former would entail the bet changing to “Clarke won’t be able to get this guy’s number before Bellamy sabotages her”, and the latter would involve them switching out the target entirely.

“So, the bet’s not really about you getting the guy; it’s about you getting the guy before Bellamy does.” Raven, who took it as her personal duty to call Clarke out on her bullshit, clarified.

“Exactly! Was that not clear before?”

Raven shook her head. “If you were any more oblivious, you’d be declared legally blind.”

Clarke pointed her drink in Raven’s general direction. “ _You_ should be declared a buzzkill.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “What’s stopping you from just giving this guy your number? There wasn’t a rule about that.”

“Because that would take all the fun out of it! There’s no fun in being a fully functioning adult!” Clarke huffed.

“Well, can’t argue with that logic.”

Clarke beamed.

***

She walked into Grinder the next morning with a hangover pulsing in her skull. Bellamy was waiting in the back room, and positively grinned when he saw her.

“Rough night?”

She glowered. “Shut up.”

He held up his hands, backing away, but couldn’t keep the snicker contained as he pushed through to the front counter.

She sat on a crate, holding her head in her hands, willing the pain to go away on its own. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, you should not have done those Jell-O shots, stupid._

She paused her self battering when she heard the voice at the counter, low and smooth, ordering a large black coffee and a cranberry muffin.

 _Shaw_ , she realized, and hastily pulled on her apron, throwing her hair up in a bun under her cap.

“Oh, no man, you don’t have to do that.” Shaw was saying to Bellamy.

Bellamy waved him off. “It’s no big deal—you’re my good deed for the day.”

They exchanged smiles that made Clarke’s skin crawl, and she nearly growled as Shaw took his employee discounted coffee to his regular table, where he continuously glanced at Bellamy.

“One point Bellamy,” he said, next to her ear. “Zero points Clarke.”

She shoved him as subtly as she could, trying to get her feet back under her. Bellamy was already ahead, Shaw now saw him as the hot and friendly barista—how could she come back from that? She’d have to do something special in order to get his attention, and she knew just how to do it.

Shaw was still in his regular corner at noon, and she adjusted her shirt, making sure her chest looked extra good before going to clear the dining room.

She leaned over the table that was next to Shaw, pretending not to notice as he was distracted from his book, each time longer than the last. She caught his eye just as she was finishing, flashing him a friendly smile.

She repeated the process with every other table in the room, and threw Bellamy a smirk as she walked back behind the counter.

“Unfair advantage.” He reasoned under his breath, obviously upset she had evened the score so easily.

She flashed him a sunny smile. “Just making the best of all my resources.”

He looked away to hide his smile, but Clarke saw just enough to make her own that much wider.

***

The unfortunate thing about having this rivalry with Bellamy was the fact that it wasn’t just a work thing—their social circle was also heavily connected, that they saw just as much of each other outside of work as they did inside.

“Can you stop _hogging_ the booth? I know you’re a _guy_ and you have to assert your _dominance_ by making yourself seem bigger than you really _are_ —“

“I have long limbs! Tell me, where would you put them, Clarke, tell me, especially when I’m shoved into this little _corner_ —“

“Well, then maybe you should have gotten a table, like _I_ suggested in the first place!”

They glared at each other for another heated moment before turning away in a huff. The rest of their friends watched the nightly entertainment fizzle out before giving each other the nightly exasperated expressions that always followed.

“Why do you always have to sit right next to each other?” Raven inquired, sipping noisily at her drink.

“Because then we can snap at each other in hushed tones, instead of shouting across the bar and disturbing the other patrons.” Clarke replied cheerily.

“It’s for the good of the people.” Bellamy agreed.

Octavia narrowed her eyes. “Or, you could just not snap at each other at all.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shot so far up they almost disappeared into her hairline. “Have you seen the way he eats his food?”

Bellamy choked. “Have you seen the way she constantly fidgets? You’re always tapping, or wringing your fingers, or—“

The rest of the words were lost to their friends, who were more concerned with why each arguing party paid so much attention to the others habits—when they had always been so adamant about ignoring one another.

***

“Be careful driving,” Bellamy warned. “The rain isn’t supposed to stop for another few hours.”

She pulled on her coat, flipping her hair from under the collar. “No need—I don’t have the car today.”

Bellamy whipped around the oven so fast he nearly dropped the hot pan of biscuits he had just pulled from it. He swore, and dumped the pan onto the counter, turning to her fully. “And you’re planning on walking home?”

“Yes?” She said slowly. “Is there a reason you’re so interested in my mode of transportation?”

Instead of answering, he held up a finger, and pushed open the door to the front. When he came back, he was tugging on his jacket, opening the back door, and motioning her through it.

Her face must have shown the question on her mind, because he tugged her through the door himself, letting out a weary sigh. “Your apartment is almost twenty blocks away—you’ll come to mine and wait out the storm.”

She raised her eyebrows, not quite trusting her ears. “I seem to recall you once telling me you hoped I drowned in a puddle.”

“Because you were being an annoying little shit, and deserved it.” He looked both ways, before crossing the street and pulling her with him.

“And I don’t deserve it now?”

“Christ—“ He stopped short, letting the rain soak both of them. “Do you want to be dry in two blocks, or twenty? Because I will happily let you walk home, in the dark, while probably giving yourself a head cold.”

She stared for a moment, watching as the water slipped down his face like small rivers. His curls were sopping, almost reaching his eyes as the rain did its best to straighten them out.

She straightened, giving him a incredulous look. “You wouldn’t dare let me walk home by myself—let alone in a storm like this.”

“Well, I’m glad her highness has finally come to a decision,” He ushered her forward, mumbling something, most likely insulting, about grey hair.

Clarke had visited his apartment before—Octavia sometimes had her birthday there, because there was more room there than at her own—but Clarke had never really paid attention to the details of it, likely because she’d been drunk on any other occasion.

But she was nothing of the sort tonight—there was nothing in her system to dull her senses, to keep her from cataloging every single move Bellamy made in her presence. And it was goddamn irritating.

His apartment was sparse, but clean. And it was warm—obviously lived in and loved. There were books strewn over the coffee table, fiction and non-fiction alike. Throw blankets were lain on the couch with care, with two functional pillows at each end. She’d suspected Bellamy was the type to think throw pillows were bullshit—anything without a purpose was worthless in his opinion.

“Here are some dry clothes—you can wear them while I wash and dry yours.” Bellamy himself had changed into a pair of track pants and a soft button down. He looked—if Clarke was being honest—adorable.

“You don’t have to wash _and_ dry them, Bellamy—“ But he was already walking away, probably to fix some tea for the both of them, as any regular host would.

She sighed, slipping into the bathroom to change. The clothes he’d given her smelled like him, and she did her best not to give herself a hernia from inhaling too deeply. She tugged on the sweatpants, and the t-shirt that was two sizes too big, and marvelled at how uncomfortable she didn’t feel.

“Do you like cinnamon buns?” Bellamy asked as she stepped into the kitchen.

“Frosted or glazed?”

He did that almost laugh of his, the one that made pride flutter in her chest. “Well what would her highness prefer?”

She hopped up onto the counter, snatching a roll off the pan and taking a bite. “Neither.” She declared around the mouthful.

He stared at her, agape. “A chaotic neutral at its finest.”

She grinned, and realized a second too late how much cinnamon was probably stuck in her teeth. He smothered his laughter with a cough, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

It was only after he turned around that she had the courage to say, “I really appreciate this, Bellamy.”

He didn’t face her, but she saw the blush creeping up his neck. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it’s no problem.”

He never could take compliments well.

***

“Nero; known for playing the guitar while Rome burned, stole the land and built a pleasure palace for himself, which was later turned into the Colosseum by Vespasian.” Clarke repeated the words until they were engraved in her mind. She sat on the counter in the back kitchen, book bag at her feet and notecards splayed around her.

“Ancient Rome?” Bellamy asked, attempting and failing to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Clarke answered, waving around her cue cards. “I have a test coming up on nearly all the emperors and I’ve been dying a slow and painful death.”

He finished drying his hands, then cocked his head at her. “You want some help?”

She almost startled, Bellamy offering her help with no sarcasm was like snow in July—extremely rare and if there was an occurrence, clearly something was wrong. “You don’t have to,”

He shrugged, settling in on an empty crate and taking the cards out of her grasp. “I’m majoring in ancient history—might as well get some studying done myself.”

She relented—Bellamy was a giant history nerd, if anyone was going to help her, he was going to benefit her the most. But she couldn’t stop her mind from snagging on other possibilities—like why had her pulse jumped when his fingers had brushed hers? Or why had she not immediately groaned when he entered the room? Since when had being so close to him not set her off, and in fact, done the exact opposite?

She shook her head—they were studying on their break; in fifteen minutes they’d be back at each other’s throats over the milk or the muffins or the coffee grinds and everything would be exactly as it always had. It had to be.

***

“Shaw hasn’t been in for a while,” Bellamy observed, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

She smirked at him, pouring sugar into a black coffee. “Do you think we scared him off?”

“God, I hope not—be a big fat waste of time on both our parts.”

She handed the cup to the customer, encouraging them to come again soon. “But our egos would both stay intact.”

It was Bellamy’s turn to smirk. “And what would be the fun in that?”

She bit her lip, trying to contain her smile, and she noticed Bellamy’s eyes linger there. The bell attached to the door chimed, making her jump.

“Hey, lovebirds.” Raven said, even as they both glared at her. They had both requested repeatedly to not be called that.

“The term should really be love-lobsters, or love-penguins—something that actually mates for life.” Bellamy said, already making Raven’s regular without her having to order it.

“No one cares, Bellamy.” She retorted, accepting the coffee with a smile. She handed Clarke a bill, winking. “Keep the change, sweetheart.”

She sat at the bar, so she could irritate/entertain Clarke and Bellamy. “Is lover boy lurking?”

They sighed, eerily in sync with one another. Bellamy sniffled, only half pretend. “No, hasn’t been for a few days now.”

Raven pouted. “Sucks.”

“You know, if it doesn’t work out for one of us, I bet you two would totally hit it off.” Bellamy suggested, and Clarke found herself nodding approvingly.

Raven squinted at the pair of them. “Do you think you guys are capable of emotions, or they’ve just been repressed for so long that you no longer have access to them?”

They looked at each other, shrugging. “I, personally, was brought into the world without emotions.” Bellamy said.

Clarke nodded. “And I was formulated in a lab, so.”

Bellamy gasped, admiring Clarke’s answer. “Actually, scratch mine, I was found in the backyard and had to be pieced together like an IKEA package.”

Clarke put her hand up for a high five, which he modestly accepted. “Good one.” She praised.

Raven shook her head. “Proving my point exactly.”

Clarke and Bellamy grinned at each other, proud to have beaten Raven at her own game. Clarke moved to the other end of the bar, but could still hear Raven ask, “Has the apocalypse arrived, or are Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin actually getting along?”

She was practically holding her breath, waiting for Bellamy’s reply. “We’re working, Raven, we do our best to not get into physical brawls in our work place.”

It was a fine answer—perfect even. But then why did Clarke feel a rush of disappointment as soon as the words were out of his mouth?

***

To both of their delights, Shaw was back the next day, sitting in his usual corner with his usual book.

Bellamy didn’t even let Clarke catch her breath before he was heading over, with the premise of setting out more Grinder original mugs.

Clarke watched from behind the counter, a sour look on her face that she couldn’t mask.

Bellamy pretended to notice the book Shaw was reading, but did a double take when he actually saw what it was. “Is that the Iliad?” He asked, genuine excitement in his voice—of course Shaw had to be a classics fan too.

Shaw was visibly surprised. “You’ve read it?”

“More times than I care to disclose.” Bellamy said, charming smile firmly in place.

“Can we collectively agree that Zeus was at fault, not Helen?”

Bellamy clutched his chest, as if he were swooning. “A man after my own heart—you, not Zeus.”

Shaw laughed, and Clarke had to turn away from the scene in order to keep her emotions under control. Bellamy was a good flirter, he always had been, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Shaw would be into him. And since when was she so emotionally involved in this bet, anyway? If she lost, she had to deal with a bruised ego and driving Bellamy around for a month—what was so bad about that?

A thought crawled into her mind as if it were a dying animal; rotten and wailing—what if she wasn’t emotionally invested in Shaw? What if the reason for her turmoil had freckles and curly hair and drove her absolutely mad on a good day?

She shook her head fiercely—Bellamy was not an option, he never had been. Even if they didn’t work together, they hated each other—or at the very least, he hated her.

On her break, she called Raven, demanding that they get drunk that night together.

“Sure, babe,” Raven replied. “Is everything alright?”

“Nothing a brain transplant won’t cure.” She said, staring as Bellamy and Shaw laughed with each other, twisting the knife already settled in her chest.

***

Clarke arrived at the club after ten, knees still shaking from her earlier revelation. Raven was sitting at a high table, drawing the eyes of every man—and almost every woman—in the bar to her tight mini dress and high ponytail.

“Damn,” Raven exclaimed, taking in Clarke’s red leather skirt and scoop neck top. “Something must really be wrong; you’re wearing your harlot outfit.”

Clarke scooted herself into a chair, blowing the hair from her face. “We drink, we dance, I find a girl—and then we deal with emotional and alcoholic hangovers alike tomorrow, in the comfort of our own home.”

Raven clinked her glass against Clarke’s. “I’ll cheers to that!”

Clarke chugged her first two drinks, and brought her third onto the dance floor, not caring as it splashed onto the tiles, causing everyone around her to slip and slide more than they normally would. She avoided the men, finding hot girls instead, grinding up against them and whispering in their ears. She’d lost Raven a few songs ago, but figured she’d just found her own warm body to dance against.

It was nearing one, and she sat herself down at the nearest table, chugging the remainder of her drink.

“In normal circumstances, I’d tell you that seat was taken—but currently, I’m drunk and you’re hot.”

Clarke whipped her head in the direction of the voice, and found a hot blonde staring at her. She had pretty eyes and a soft smile, and Clarke grinned.

“Luckily enough—I’m also drunk, you’re also hot, and I live just a block away. Sound good to you?”

The girl laughed. “And without even asking for my name—my kind of girl.”

She stood, offering Clarke her hand and helping her down from the stool. They walked hand in hand to the door, but Clarke stopped short. “I’m not—I’m sure you’re amazing, but I’m just looking for—“

The girl nodded, not pushing her to finish. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. I’m Niylah, by the way.”

Clarke felt relief wash over her as she reclaimed Niylah’s hand and continued walking. “Clarke. It’s a pleasure.”

***

“I’m never drinking again.” She grumbled into her pillow the next morning.

Raven sighed contently, snuggling closer to her. “Funny, because that’s what you said last time. And the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before—“

Clarke flailed her arms around, trying and failing to smother the noise coming out of Raven’s mouth. “Head. Pain. Mouth. Close.”

Raven laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve already got the grease and the caffeine on its way—I put Bellamy on hangover patrol—“

Clarke groaned loudly at the sound of his name, hitting her pillow a few times, then sitting up. “Bellamy is the reason I have the hangover in the first place.”

Raven nearly fell out of the bed. “Well, halle—fuckin’—lujah! You’ve finally figured that one out, huh? It’s about damn time. Murphy owes me ten bucks.”

It took a few seconds for her brain to process the words, and then another few seconds to formulate a reply. “What? What are you talking about?”

Raven rolled her eyes. “You’ve been in love with each other for like ever.”

It was Clarke’s turn to almost fall off the bed. “In _love_? With each- _each other_? Hold on. Hold _on_. I’ve just figured out he might not be a complete and total shit head, and you’re telling me we’re in love? That’s not—absolutely not. No way. Impossible.”

Raven patted her head, mocking sympathy in her eyes. “Oh, if only the whole world were as unassuming and innocent as you.”

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Raven bounded off the bed to answer it, moving as if she didn’t have a false knee. “Raven! If you dare say _anything_ —“

Clarke leaped out of bed as well, finding herself battling with the duvet for a moment before finally managing to escape. She chased Raven, realizing just a second too late that she wasn’t wearing any pants.

“Ah, here she is!” Raven said, clapping her hands together and then stealing the bag and coffees from Bellamy, practically running into the kitchen.

Bellamy glanced down at her bare legs, and then immediately yanked his eyes back to her face. “Do you always greet your guests with such flourish?”

The words, _you’re just a special exception_ sprang to her throat, but she quickly swallowed them back down. What if he suspected how she felt already? She wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction of hearing any words remotely reflecting flirtatiousness come out of her mouth.

Plus, she was a coward. “I’m probably still drunk,” She mumbled stupidly, and headed back into her room to find something suitable to wear in front of company.

When she walked back into the kitchen, Bellamy smiled at her, which she did her best to return, but her stomach was flipping too badly for her to really put much effort into it. Bellamy coughed, then straightened. “Heard you had a girl over last night.”

Yes! She had! She hadn’t been pining over him at all! “You heard correct.”

“And?” He prompted.

 _Go ahead, rub his nose in it. Tell him how you had sex and didn’t think about him once._ Clarke shrugged. “I had fun, she had fun—it was a joyous experience for both parties involved.” She slurped her coffee to hide her face, and nearly burnt her tongue off in the process.

Bellamy raised his eyebrows, glancing at Raven. “Well, I’m glad? I guess?”

Clarke looked down to avoid answering, and a very pregnant and awkward silence ensued. Raven, being Raven, took that as her cue. “Well I’m starving. I think it’s time to eat. Bellamy? Clarke? Don’t you think it’s time to eat?”

Bellamy perked up, but his eyes were still somewhere else. Clarke felt guilt pool in the pit of her stomach, but did nothing to address it. “Yeah.” She agreed. “Thanks for bringing it, Bellamy.”

“No problem.” He said, stuffing a pancake into his mouth.

Raven muttered something under her breath, then gathered up her food and headed into the living room. “I’m ready to watch the new season of Orange is the New Black. Anyone else?”

Clarke clamoured onto the couch, eager for a choice that didn’t involve speaking or looking at anyone. Bellamy slumped in afterward, handing out packets of maple syrup and warning them to brush their teeth when they were finished.

“Yes, mom.” Raven teased.

Bellamy looked to Clarke, as if waiting for her to make a comment as well. But Clarke simply ducked her head, burrowing deeper into the couch while keeping her eyes locked on the screen in front of her.

She wasn’t going to be able to avoid his gaze forever, but until she was able to snuff out these pesky emotions of hers—it would have to do.

Bellamy would never feel the same way about her as she did him—despite what Raven said. Bellamy didn’t do relationships, he hadn’t been with a girl past a one night stand in the whole time she’d known him. Liking Bellamy had never been an option—and it never would be.

***

“Does this look okay to you?” Bellamy asked, looking at the arrangement he’d made in the window for their new line of dark roast coffee. “I need an artist’s opinion.”

She barely glanced up. “Looks fine to me.”

“Just fine?”

She huffed. “Good, great, fantastic—whatever floats your goddamn boat.”

Bellamy held his hands up in surrender. “Jesus, sorry for wanting it to look good, Boss.”

Her nostrils flared, but she made no further comments, and turned back to the schedule she was trying to fine tune.

“Is everything okay?” Bellamy asked, suddenly beside her and close—too close—

She jumped away, gathering up her papers and hiding her embarrassment with anger. “I’m fine. I don’t need one of your heart to hearts, and even if I did—“

“What the fuck is up with you lately?” He asked, jumping in front of her, effectively blocking her escape path.

She glared up at him. “I said. I’m fine. Please move.”

He crossed his arms, and stared her down. “Clarke, I know we’re not best friends, but I can tell when something’s screwing with you. And it doesn’t help you to take it out on me. So—spill.”

She felt her throat start to close up, and she blinked away the tears that sprang to her eyes. This boy—he had such a big heart, even after she’d been a bitch to him all week, he still wanted to help her. He still wanted to make sure she was alright, and that she was looking after herself.

Which is why the next words she spoke nearly seared her tongue on the way out. “I don’t want your help, Bellamy. Just because you let me wait out a storm in your apartment, and brought me breakfast one time, does not make us friends. We’ve hated each other from the moment we met—nothing’s going to change that. Now please— _get out of my way_.”

She might as well have struck him across the face. She’d never seen Bellamy look so utterly gutted before, and it broke her heart enough that she wanted to take it all back, take the pain off his face. But in the next instance it was gone. Closed off to her and the rest of the world, just like in the early days.

His face hardened. “I apologize deeply for wasting your time, _highness_. It won’t happen again.” He spat, and spun on his heel, marching back to behind the counter.

He didn’t so much as look at her for the rest of the day.

***

A month is a long time to not talk to someone. Thirty days of no contact whatsoever—it’s almost excessive, and a little bit childish if you asked her.

She’d always thought Bellamy and Octavia had been cut from different cloths—but they definitely had one thing in common; anger.

Bellamy hadn’t looked at her in four weeks, and if she did happen to cross his line of vision, he saw right through her. He left rooms as soon as she entered them, made excuses to cancel plans if she was able to join—anything to sever all contact.

He’d even outright asked for Shaw’s number, completely breaking the official bet rules, and hooked up with him repeatedly for a week.

She thought about apologizing, telling him what was really wrong, but she had let it go on for too long. If he hadn’t gotten around to forgiving her by now, she doubted he ever would.

“You fucked up.” Raven helpfully observed, putting in her hoop earrings. “You fucked up bad.”

Clarke glared. “Thank you, Raven, for that enlightening observation.”

Raven carried on as if Clarke hadn’t spoken. “I mean, he’s taking the cold shoulder thing a little far—but I’m not gonna say you don’t deserve it. You both are idiots about your feelings.”

She turned back to Clarke. “Do you know why Bellamy hasn’t had a girlfriend since he met you? _Because he met you_.”

Clarke shook her head, squashing down the hope that bloomed in her chest. “Then why wouldn’t he have said anything?”

Raven cocked her hip. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“Because if he doesn’t feel the same, it’s going to ruin what we pass off as friendship!” Clarke said, hands up in exasperation.

Raven faced the mirror once more, clicking her tongue. “You’re both responsible adults, capable of dealing with a break up healthily and maturely.”

“We’re dealing with this fight right now awful responsibly.” Clarke muttered.

“And who’s fault is that?” 

Clarke didn’t answer, and Raven sighed, sitting on the bed beside her. “Why don’t you come to the bar tonight, and tell him what’s been going on, and if he feels the same? You live happily ever after!”

Clarke’s voice was so small she was almost embarrassed. “And what if he doesn’t?”

Raven pulled her into a hug. “Then you can stop wondering and move the fuck on already.”

Clarke let out a watery laugh, and pulled back, wiping her eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Raven said, smiling wide.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll come!” Clarke squealed, and Raven joined her, earning a loud shout from the tenant next door. It only set the two girls off louder.

***

Clarke was nervous. She was _nervous_. More nervous than she had been at her first art gallery, more nervous than she had been coming out to her mother, more nervous than she’d ever been in her entire life. She wasn’t one to confess feelings; she slept with someone, left her number and if they called, maybe she had a date. She didn’t do crushes or emotional confessions or any of the bullshit that she was about to do tonight.

Raven pulled them up short outside the bar, putting her hands on Clarke’s arms. “Now listen, Bellamy is an idiot if he doesn’t like you, but you will be fine if he doesn’t. Got it?”

Clarke nodded, teeth chattering too much to be able to give a vocal answer.

They walked in, and before Clarke had even said a word, her heart was shattering.

Sitting beside Bellamy, laughing and holding onto him like her life depended on it, was a lovely brunette. _So that’s why he wanted everyone to come tonight_ , she thought miserably.

Raven took her arm, squeezing lightly in sympathy, before leading them to get a drink.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Raven whispered.

Clarke shook her head, feigning a smile. “It’s okay. It just—wasn’t meant to be.”

The rest of the night passed by in a blur—she learned that the brunettes name was Echo, that she and Bellamy had been dating for nearly two weeks, and that Clarke hated her. The way she laughed, the way she smiled; and the loathing only tripled if either of those were directed at Bellamy.

Raven leaned in close at one point, and told her to calm her ‘murder eyes’, at least until they got home.

The true punch in the gut was that Bellamy hadn’t even introduced them, like she didn’t exist—like she never even mattered to him.

And maybe she hadn’t.

***

She used to enjoy going to work, used to look forward to making customers smile and bantering with Bellamy. It was always a bright spot in her day.

Now, it nearly brought her to tears to have to go and feel like such an outcast. Bellamy, even when they hadn’t got along, always did his best to not let it effect their work. She never felt as if she didn’t belong, or as if she wasn’t wanted there.

Bellamy still acted professionally around their co-workers, but she was sure it wasn’t hard to miss the icy wall he put up whenever she was near.

She slumped into her shift, trying to give herself a pep talk so she didn’t bum out the customers—or worse, accidentally snap and tear off one of their limbs. She’d considered calling in sick, but Bellamy would know immediately, and her pride couldn’t take anymore hits.

“Are you going to Octavia’s party on Saturday?”

She hadn’t heard the voice directed at her in so long, she almost thought it was a mistake.

“Sorry?”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, clearly irritated with having to repeat himself, on top of talking to her in the first place. “Octavia’s party. Are you going?”

She snapped to attention, deciding to put on her own cold front. “Am I allowed?”

He huffed. “As if I could stop you.”

Her nostrils flared, and she began unpacking her bag. “I told Octavia that I was coming, but I’m not going to if you’re gonna make the night miserable for me.”

His eyebrows raised. “Ignoring you makes you miserable? Glad you’re seeing how the other side lives.”

“What?” She asked, but he had already moved on.

“The reason I’m asking is because Echo thinks you don’t like her. Apparently, last time you were glaring at her all night.” He crossed his arms, leaning up against the counter.

She shrugged. “I was drunk. Anything drunk me does is none of my business.” She smiled sweetly, then pushed open the door, letting her face fall as she stepped through it.

“I’d rather my girlfriend _not_ be afraid of my friends!” He called after her.

“Good thing we aren’t friends then!” She shouted back, completely ignoring the confused faces of her coworkers and customers.

Harper stepped forward, extremely cautious, as if approaching a wild animal. “Are you guys—?”

“Fantastic.” Clarke said, smiling wide. “Absolutely fucking fantastic.”

***

“Clarke!” Octavia squealed, ramming her into a hug. “It’s so good to see you!”

Clarke smiled. At least one Blake didn’t despise her. “It’s good to see you, too, Octavia. How’s your party?”

“I don’t know! I’m drunk!” She said, and then took off into the crowd that was engulfing the living room.

Clarke was happy there were so many people here, that meant there was a small chance that she could go the whole night without seeing Bellamy, or the girlfriend who was apparently afraid of her. She laughed to herself— _afraid, like I could do anything without Bellamy banishing me._

Monty handed her a drink, and they began talking about his boyfriend, Miller. “It’s funny how all our friend group is connected in some way, huh?” He said, looking around the room.

Her brow furrowed. “Like who?”

He counted off the pairs on his fingers. “Octavia and Bellamy; siblings, Miller and I; dating, Harper and Gina; dating, Raven and you; roommates, Bellamy and you—“ He stopped short, and Clarke raised her eyebrows, wondering what possibly connected her to Bellamy.

“Mortal enemies?” She guessed, only half kidding. “Pair most likely to murder each other?”

Monty was looking everywhere but at Clarke, pulling at his collar—a sure sign he was nervous. “You know what?” He said, voice comically high. “Never mind, it really doesn’t matter—“

“Oh, come on, Monty!” She punched his arm. “How are Mr. Stick Up His Ass and I connected? Go ahead—“

“Clarke?”

She spun around at the sound of her name, surprised and a little bit irritated to see none other than Echo standing there, looking oh so shy and lovely.

Clarke cleared her throat, embarrassment over shouting colouring her cheeks. “Yes?”

“Can I talk to you for a quick second?”

Clarke inwardly rolled her eyes, and turned back to Monty, pointing at him with promise. “We’re not finished here.”

He nodded, but looked forever grateful to have a moment to collect himself. Clarke looked to Echo, motioning for her to lead the way.

She led them to the edge of the room, where they both had a clear view of the only thing that connected them—Bellamy. He was dancing, something he didn’t normally do unless he was on the far side of drunk. He threw his head back in laughter at something Miller said, and then continued shaking his hips.

Clarke coughed. “So, what did you wanna chat about?”

Echo sighed, and Clarke almost felt bad. Almost. “It’s about Bellamy.”

Clarke nearly choked on her drink, but did her best to regain her composure. “What about him?”

“Did you guys ever—were you ever together? Or did you sleep together?”

“ _Fuck_ no.” She blurted, too fast and too definite. She inhaled, steadying her breath. “Bellamy and I have only ever—barely—been friends.”

Echo stared at her drink, not sure what to say next. “It’s just—the way he looks at you, sometimes. Like—like a daydream he can’t quite shake; something he just can’t bring himself to let go of.”

Clarke felt her heart stop, then begin again rapidly, thrumming against her ribcage so hard she worried it would bruise. “I’m sure—either you misinterpreted what he was thinking, or he was looking at someone else. Bellamy and I—we’ve never sat right with each other—“

But Echo wasn’t finished. “And that’s not the only thing that bothers me. Why is it that you two could never be in the same room without fighting? Why didn’t Bellamy ‘do relationships’, until he was no longer your friend? And it’s not just the way he looks at you, you look at him when you think no one’s watching, too. It’s like you’re drawn to each other—no matter how much you think you hate one another.”

Clarke couldn’t comprehend what was being said to her. Did she look at Bellamy like Echo said she did? Was the reason he didn’t date really because of her? She backed away, shaking her head. “I’m not—I’m not drunk enough for this.”

She nearly ran for the door, colliding with a solid chest a step away from it.

“Clarke?” Bellamy said, concern pushing through his front. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, blinking away the tears that were gathering in her eyes. “I’m fine—I just—I need to go home—I need to get out of here—“

“Hey, _hey_. Relax.” He rubbed her arms soothingly, and she hated the way she leaned into it, despite the conversation she’d just had. “It’s okay. We’ll get you an Uber, just hold on.”

He pulled out his phone, ordering a car for her while still moving his hand in soothing circles on her back. It did anything but calm her down—but she wasn’t about to move away.

He met her eyes. “It’ll be here in about five minutes, okay? His name is Shaun, and I’ll wait with you until he gets here.”

 _Bellamy, we’re in a fight, you don’t have to be so nice to me_ , or _No, Bellamy, you have a girlfriend_ , would have both been acceptable answers in this situation. But Clarke didn’t say anything, and instead leaned into his warmth, enjoying what she could while he was still offering it.

When Shaun arrived, Clarke boldly leaned up to kiss Bellamy’s cheek, lingering much longer than she should have. “Thanks, Bellamy.”

He looked dazed when she pulled away, and touched the spot where her lips had been. “Anytime, Clarke.”

She could barely contain her tears the whole way home.

***

“This is your fault, you know.” Clarke pointed an accusatory spoon at Raven, who had also called in sick to work in favour of staying home and eating ice cream while marathoning their favourite movies.

“How the fuck is it my fault?” Raven replied, reasonably indignant.

“You’re the one who told me I was in love with him! If you hadn’t told me that, I would have lived out my days, oblivious and happy!” She shoved another spoonful of Taste the Rainbow into her mouth.

“Ignorance is not bliss, Clarke Griffin, and you know it.”

Clarke stuck out her tongue, and turned back to Clueless. Cher was perfectly happy before she found out she was in love with Josh, as was Clarke. The difference was, only one of them was going to get a happy ending.

***

It was raining out, and she had dashed inside from the parking lot, more focused on her hair than who was standing outside her door.

She stopped dead, shock keeping her limbs from moving. “Bellamy—“

“I found your note.” He said, voice hoarse, hair damp from the rain as well. He was clutching a piece of paper, anger causing it to shake.

Her mind was blank. “What note? When? I never—“

“‘Dear Bellamy,’” He began to read, emotion making his words raw. “‘I’m writing this to you because I don’t know how to say it, and I don’t know it at all when I’m sober. I just might be falling in love with you, and there might be the smallest chance that you love me too. If so, when you find this, please return this note to me with a note of your own declaring your love on the back. Love, Clarke.’”

The memory hit her like a kick in the teeth—when he’d walked her home from work, so she could wait out the rain at his apartment, she’d found some of Monty’s leftover moonshine in the cupboard. They’d had a couple of glasses, but she hadn’t thought too much of it. She remembered Bellamy going to the washroom, and he’d been so warm and lovely all night, she’d felt the need to put it down on paper. She’d written it quick, in case he came back and caught her, and stuck it in the phone book that was laying on the counter.

She hadn’t remembered the note until this very moment. “Bellamy, I didn’t—“

“Clarke, you once said that you have no control over what you do when you’re drunk. Is that still true? Did you mean any of this?” His words were choked, and she could now see that his eyes were rimmed red—how long had he been waiting here for her, torturing himself?

She started towards the door, unlocking it and then pushing it open, letting him in after her. She turned towards him, steadying herself on the couch. “I didn’t remember writing that note until now, and I’m sorry for any pain that it might have caused you—“

“That is _not_ what I asked, Clarke.” His next words were punctuated, each syllable stretched out. “Did you mean any of this?”

“Why does it matter?!” She yelled, her resolve gone. “We haven’t spoken in weeks, you’re with Echo now—“

“The only reason I’m with Echo is because I thought _you_ didn’t want me!” He shouted, breathing heavy, eyes wide. He raked a hand through his hair, then, as if giving up, hung his head.

Clarke shifted her weight, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Does she know that?”

He laughed, but there was no humour in it. “She’s the one that found the note.”

The pain in her chest only deepened, carving her out and leaving her hallow. She grasped at something—anything—to say, but her mind was exhausted, to the point where even apologizing seemed too much of a burden.

Bellamy managed to find his voice first. “I’ve held out hope, since that moment I met you and you called me out on my shit with no remorse, that you might feel even an inkling of what I felt for you. Here was this amazing girl, someone who got along with my friends, someone funny and smart and beautiful, and all I managed to do was argue with her.”

Silent tears slipped down Clarke’s cheeks, and Bellamy continued. “And we were just starting to move on from that—actually become something resembling a friendship—and you just blew up. I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong, what had set you off so badly, to make you want to hurt me just to get me to go away.

“And I couldn’t. I couldn’t figure it out. So I decided to do my best to move on—to get over you in the only way I knew how. Freezing you out, making you feel like I didn’t care anymore, finding someone else to project any feelings I had for you on to. And you know what? I almost thought it was working, I thought I had finally shaken whatever spell you had me under.” He sighed, shaking his head. “And then I found your stupid note.”

Her heart was breaking, tearing her up from the inside out. She could barely get the words out. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

His head snapped up. “Why didn’t you?!”

“I tried!” She cried. “That night at the bar I was going to tell you everything, whether you felt the same or not! But by the time I got there—you had already found somebody else.”

He didn’t say anything, and she continued. “Bellamy, the reason I blew up was because I couldn’t handle how I felt about you. I never would have thought in a million years that you would have felt the same! I couldn’t! Bellamy, I—“

In three strides, he had crossed the length of the room, taken her face into his hands, and without pause, crushed her mouth to his.

Bursts of colour exploded behind her closed eyelids, every good memory becoming sharper while any thought of cold looks or cut off words were dulled.

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled against his lips. She stood on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck, getting as close as she could to him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“

He peppered kisses all over her face, saying the words back to her. He pressed their lips together once more, and began backing them up towards the couch. He laid her down, then settled himself on top of her, reaching to undo her jeans.

“Anytime you want me to stop, I’ll stop.” He said against her neck.

“Why would I _ever_ want you to stop?” She groaned, arching at the first touch of his fingers. He rubbed his knuckle against her clit, agonizingly slow, making her shake with need.

“Bellamy—I want—please—“ She couldn’t form words properly, and just when she thought she might pass out, he slipped a finger inside her, pumping fast enough to make her vision blur.

She arched up against him as she came, crying out and digging her nails into his shoulders. He didn’t let up inside her to let her catch her breath, and instead built up another orgasm, which came faster than the first.

She couldn’t move, she couldn’t think—but as soon as she could, she was on top of him, unzipping his jeans and freeing his dick. She hadn’t had a lot of time to think about Bellamy’s dick, but it was everything she could have imagined and more.

She took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around his tip and slowly moving her way downward. He fisted his hand in her hair, just hard enough to send a thrill down her spine.

“Clarke, I’m gonna—“ He choked, and she popped him off, doing the rest of the job by hand.

She flopped down beside him, feeling more content than she had in months. He pulled her up against his side, kissing the top of her head.

“So, we’re not gonna tell our friends yet, right?” She asked.

He snorted. “Not ever, if I can help it. They’re gonna milk this for the rest of our lives.”

She smiled to herself. The rest of their lives.

At some point, they must have fallen asleep, because when they awoke, they were horizontal, and the front door was opening.

Clarke thought about scrambling away from Bellamy, but Raven would smell the bullshit immediately, and besides—she was quite comfortable right where she was.

Raven threw up her hands in exasperation at the sight of them. “Are you kidding me? The one day I get this asshole to agree to come home with me, you two decide to figure out your shit? What kind of bullshit—“ Raven continued with her rant, while Bellamy and Clarke greeted a very shy Shaw, who was standing meekly behind Raven.

“Raven!” Clarke interrupted. “This is a good thing! No more fighting, I won’t be moping around the house anymore—“

Bellamy craned his neck to look at her. “You were moping?”

“Of course I was moping.” She snuggled against him. “I was missing out on all—“

“Gag!” Raven yelled, tugging Shaw into a chair so she could sit on his lap. “No one wants to hear how miserable you both were without each other, and I especially don’t wanna hear how happy you are now. Save that shit for the wedding.”

Shaw furrowed his brow. “You are impressively cynical.”

She turned to smile at him. “I know.” And pecked his mouth with her own.

“Gag!” Bellamy and Clarke both shouted in unison, then dissolved into laughter at the look on Raven’s face.

 _Yeah_ , Clarke thought, soaking in the feeling of Bellamy’s arms around her, _the rest of our lives sounds pretty damn good._

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> madi has never and will never appear in my fics. sorry not sorry


End file.
